


From Eden

by nightimedreamer



Series: Carry on Countdown 2020 [7]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Carry On Countdown (Simon Snow), First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Reluctant enemies to lovers, Simon saves Baz, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch's Kidnapping by Numpties, Vague depictions of panic attacks, Watford Eighth Year
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:01:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27963446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightimedreamer/pseuds/nightimedreamer
Summary: The thing about sharing part of your soul with someone is that there are many other things included in the package, things people usually don't talk about.Like magic, or feelings, or even scars and wounds.Simon and Baz have always been fated in more ways than one—with their souls interlaced, there's only so much they can hide from each other. And what's worse than having to share everything you'd rather keep buried deep down inside your chest with none other than your sworn enemy?(Not being able to stop thinking about them, for example.)(Or being hopelessly in love with them, maybe.)
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: Carry on Countdown 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2027081
Comments: 29
Kudos: 173
Collections: Carry On Countdown 2020





	From Eden

**Author's Note:**

> COC day 15 - Hurt/comfort  
> Originally this was going to be called "Smoke and Mirrors", but I was listening to Hozier yesterday and decided to change it.  
> (Nope, this is not a songfic, though probably it would have been if I'd listened to this song before)  
> Enjoy?

_Honey, you're familiar,_

_Like my mirror years ago_

—From Eden, by Hozier

* * *

**Simon**

There's nothing more disconcerting than finding out something deeply personal about someone you know too well—or, someone you _thought_ you knew.

I've always known Baz. I thought nothing could shock me when it came to him. I've been his roommate for seven years. Bloody hell, I'm his _Mirror,_ for Merlin's sake! There's nothing he's feeling, nothing he's trying to hide, that he can keep from me. 

I know _what_ he is: my nemesis. And a vampire. 

(...And my missing half.) 

(It's still hard to wrap my head around this last part, though.) 

The thing about sharing part of your soul with someone is that there are many other things included in the package, things people usually don't talk about. 

The magic, for example. Not that it's really common, but sometimes, soulmates can tap into each other's magics and share it. (I know this one is true, because we've seen it before. We've done it. Baz and I. Though it obviously doesn't work for us the way it works for everyone else.) 

Whenever I felt my magic boiling up, threatening to pour out of me, to explode… it called for Baz. It felt a bit like the Crucible all over again: that tug at the pit of my stomach, pulling me to him. 

And that wasn't _—isn't—_ all. The bond not only allows us to feel each other, it also allows our magics to interact. When I got riled up, Baz could easily help me push it down, control the overflowing power, keep it in. But he did the opposite: he'd taunt me and push me and call it out until I went off. 

Neither of us knew, at the time, I don't think. But we figured it out soon enough. Sometimes, when I touched him, I could feel my magic singing in my blood, and I could feel _his_ rising to meet it. Whenever I backed him up against the wall, or held my fist against his face, or pushed him—I know we both could feel it. The magnet below our skin.

Baz's magic is fiery just like mine. Though, usually, he's got more control over it than I do. He's a flamethrower; I'm a fucking _H-bomb._

That's not surprising at all. The compatibility, I mean. It's common for Mirrors to have matching magic. The problem is that, when you fight fire with fire, it can only end in flames. 

(Or in smoke, I suppose. That's all there will be left of us when we're done.)

Some people say fate is an ineffable thing. I say whoever controls this Soulmate business is a fucking _arsehole._

Anyway, back to Mirrors. 

Most people romanticise it—like having someone intrude on every aspect of your life is something to long for. Seriously, I don't get it. Maybe things are different for Normals, but most days I just feel him like a mild headache at the back of my head, annoying and unrelenting.

Baz, always there. _Always,_ no matter what happens. 

Mirrors share everything, not just magic; so, I can almost always tell when he's plotting something. It's like an itch I can't scratch, a feeling I can't shake. I can also tell when he's frightened, or sad, or overall distressed. 

Just as Baz can tell when I'm distressed—though that's not really impressive, given I start literally fuming on those occasions, so everyone knows. The smell of smoke isn't easy to ignore. 

It's always been like this, though I didn't know why in the beginning. I had no idea how Baz could know what I was feeling, or how he could rile me up so easily, always going for the lowest and most efficient blow. Even back in our first years together, he knew where all my buttons were. He could reach into me so easily, so naturally, and I was at his mercy. 

For a long time, I thought he had me under some kind of vampire thrall, some mind-controlling power. It took me years to connect the dots, while Baz knew since the beginning, probably. 

(And to think people expect this bond to be something loving—well, for some reason, the universe tied me to my fucking nemesis, and he used it _against me.)_

Obviously. Because it's Baz.

(Though I suppose he could have hurt me much more than he did.) 

I'm sure I would've figured it out sooner if he was human. I mean, it's difficult to hide a Soulmate bond when you're so close to your Mirror, and especially if you've known each other for a while. Most days, when we're not getting at each other's throats, it simply feels like there's a kind of static passing between us. Like we're in tune. It was pretty easy to recognise the feeling, once I started paying attention to it. 

Still, those things went over my head for years. The attraction, and the static, and the feelings—sips of _Baz's_ feelings—somehow, I managed to ignore it all. 

Until I broke his nose. 

(I couldn't deny the physical evidence, then.)

That's the trick about Soulmates, Mirrors or whatever you want to call them: they share _everything._ Joy and grief, hurt and pain, always reflecting each other.

I'd never noticed Baz's pain until that moment. 

There must have been a moment, when I was a child—as far as I know about his Turning—in which I felt a sharp sting in my neck, like needles piercing my flesh. It's mostly gone now; the scar it left is so faint, I used to mistake the small marks for moles. (I'm covered in them. Before I knew, there was nothing special about those two.) 

When we fought, I hit Baz, and he hit me. I never stopped in the middle of an _altercation_ of ours, like he says, to check for bruises I shouldn't have. I only checked later, when the nurse healed me, and it didn't make a difference. 

It did, the day my fist connected with Baz's nose. There was an ugly, snapping sound as his nose bent under the force of the punch. Blood gushed out. Broken. 

I felt the pain almost immediately and, just like that, my nose was bent the wrong way as well, blood filling my throat and running down my face. I don't know whose eyes were bigger, mine or Baz's. 

We both knew what it meant. It was the most awkward minute of our lives, staring at each other wordlessly and just _understanding._

If his nose wasn't broken, I'm sure Baz would have freaked out immediately—he has this weird vampire ethic, doesn't like to bite people. And he's said (menacingly, but also somehow caringly) that my blood smells ridiculously good. (I almost told Baz _he_ smells ridiculously good.) 

I wonder if it tastes good, as well. My blood. I'd ask him directly if I didn’t know that was the best way to get him in a sour mood for at least three days. Some drops of my blood dripped onto his face, that day. Onto his lips. 

Baz licked them. He didn't want to, I don't think, but he did anyway. 

And _then_ he freaked out. 

***

Being Baz's Mirror doesn't change the fact that I am still his nemesis. 

We're still on opposite sides of an imminent war. There's still the Humdrum to defeat. 

This is how things will go, how they're supposed to happen: I'll take the Humdrum down, and then Baz will take _me_ down. 

This is not part of the prophecy, but I know it needs to happen. I'm too dangerous—too uncontrollable—to keep living after the prophecy is fulfilled. 

It doesn't even matter if we want to fight (to _kill)_ each other. In the end, whether I deliver the fatal blow or take it, Baz is coming down with me. 

I don't really think I want to do that, the more I consider it. Hurting him would only hurt me more than anything. And when I drive my sword through his heart, well… it'll pierce _my heart_ as well. 

If Baz dies, I die. 

If Baz kills me… 

Well, I suppose there's a chance he'll survive, being a vampire. Maybe his condition will heal him faster than Soulmate magic can kill him. 

(Though, sometimes, I think he doesn't want that, either.) (To kill me, I mean.)

Anyway. Baz is my Mirror. 

But it's not like he cares. Like it means anything at all. 

(Just that we're fated, and there's nothing we can do about it.) 

*******

I'm used to knowing exactly where Baz is, all the time. 

Or, most of the time. When he's out of my sight, I go looking for him. (Penny says it's stalking.) (It's not, just to clarify.) 

But he's never out of my mind. 

There's only one time of the year when I have no means of looking for him—when I lock all my favorite things about Watford in the _Do Not Think_ part of my brain and avoid them all summer.

Not that Baz is part of that list. (I can't stop thinking about him, anyway.)

The summer is almost over. I'll be taking the train to Watford in just a week; my few belongings are already gathered and ready to go. 

This year, when I check out of the care system, it will be the last time.

The last days are always the most difficult, even more than the first. They're full of this nervous energy, _almost there,_ but still not on my way. I just want to be back already. 

I'm sitting on my bed, checking my things again and wondering if someone would mind me getting there some days earlier. (I don't know if the Mage is already there, but Ebb is. The goatkeeper. She's my friend, and she lives there. I think she wouldn't mind me spending some days in her cottage.) 

I'm seriously considering it, when suddenly—as it always is—I feel a sharp pain on the side of my head. 

I try to get up, but the blow makes me dizzy and disoriented, so I fall back on the bed. Next: a punch to my stomach. And finally: my leg throbs. 

I don't know what's happening. For a moment, I'm so confused I practically forget about the bond. 

Then it hits me, almost as painfully as the phantom bruises. 

_Baz._

Baz never gets in fights, unless it's with me. Even then, it's been over a year since we really got into a serious fight. 

Baz is in trouble. 

I wait until the dizziness passes, then I use the care home's phone to call the one person I trust about this. 

Someone answers almost immediately, to my relief. 

_"Hello?"_ says a small voice, at the same time I blurt, hurriedly, "Baz is in trouble." 

There's silence for a moment. Then, again that voice—high pitched and childish, asking, _"Who's Baz? Who are you?"_

I huff, pulling at my hair. Right. "This is Simon. I'm Penny's friend. Can you tell her I need to talk to her, please?" 

There's a pause, and then she's shouting Penny's name in a frequency that could probably make me deaf. (I almost drop the phone.) 

Another pause, and then someone else takes the phone. _"Simon?"_

"Penny," I say, relieved. "Listen, Pen, Baz is in trouble." 

_"Baz? How do you know?"_

"He's hurt," I tell her. "I think he's been hit on the head. I've got a pretty bad headache now, so he could be unconscious." 

_"Nicks and Slick,"_ she swears. _"Simon, do you feel something else? Do you have any idea of what happened?"_

I tell her about my leg, and my stomach. "I don't know what happened. Baz never gets into fights. So…" 

_"Someone probably attacked him,"_ she completes, voicing exactly what I feared. 

"Yeah." 

_"Keep calm, Si. He's going to be alright,"_ she says, soothingly. _"Look, his family will take care of it. You don't need to worry."_

I stare at the phone, frustrated. I can imagine the look on her face—she's probably thinking this is paranoia, that I'm exaggerating. 

"You're not going to help me, then?" I ask, harshly. 

_"What do you even want to do, Simon?"_

"He could be in danger!" 

_"He knows how to take care of himself, Si. It's_ Baz." 

_I know it's Baz,_ I want to shout. _That's exactly why I'm worried._

I don't say that out loud. I don't even say goodbye, which is probably kinda rude. 

I just hang up. 

*******

My first instinct is to try to contact Baz's family, somehow. The only problem is that I have no way of reaching them, and even if I could, I wouldn't be able to explain _how_ I know there's something wrong with him. 

Actually, they'd probably think I had something to do with it. Or, knowing them, someone would accuse the Mage of having something to do with it. 

I can't reach out to him, either. The Mage doesn't know—the Pitches don't, either—but I suspect he'd be more than disappointed to learn that Baz is my Soulmate. He has great hopes for me; he thinks that, once I meet my Soulmate, my magic will finally stabilise and start working properly. 

So, yeah, I don't think he'd be thrilled to know about us. 

_(There's no_ us, I remind myself. Baz and I are Soulmates due to circumstances beyond our control. We keep our injuries to ourselves.) 

I don't know what to do, so I just wait. I'm usually impulsive—if I had the vaguest idea of what happened to Baz, of where he is, I'd be up on my feet in an instant. 

But I don't. So I wait. 

Nothing happens for some hours. I don't feel any sudden bursts of emotions that don't belong to me; no more pain. No more bruises. 

It comes in the middle of the night, and at first I think I'm having a nightmare. 

Except I wake up, and it doesn't go away. 

_Panic._

_Fear._

It floods me, making my chest tight, creating a lump in my throat. 

Baz needs me. 

The feelings taking me over are almost too much to bear. I try to breathe rhythmically, try to calm down, but it's too much. I'm overcome with Baz's feelings—who else could it be? What else could this mean? 

I'm crying, I think. Sobbing quietly. He's so afraid. I let myself feel it; maybe, if I cry some of his tears, it will help him calm down. 

I can't think of what must be happening right now—Baz, _suffering…_

I feel like going off. 

I bury my head in my pillow, pull the blankets over me, trying to block the thoughts. It doesn't help. 

I can't breathe. _Baz can't breathe._

I _can't_ go off. If I do, people will get hurt. 

I get up and go out. 

The night air helps me calm down a bit while I consider my options. This definitely can't wait—I don't know what's happening to Baz, or how long he has left; I just know I can't ignore this feeling. 

I've never turned my back on him, and I'm not starting now. 

I sneak through the rooms, carefully not to wake anyone up. I'm too distressed to try using my magic, so I have to whisper on the phone. 

Luckily, I remember her number well. 

Baz and I agreed on a truce, a while back. It's part of why we stopped fighting, and we both agreed on no plotting or confrontations. No more hurting each other if we could help it. 

We also agreed to tell someone about the bond. Only one person each of us trusts. 

So I told Penny, and Baz told his aunt Fiona. 

She picks up almost immediately. _"Who's this?"_ She's in a bad mood.

"Fiona," I say, my voice quivering lightly. She practically snarls. 

_"What do you want, Chosen One?"_

(One thing about Fiona Pitch: she's fucking terrifying. And, what's worse, she hates my guts.) (Not a great combination, really.) 

"I want to talk about Baz," I say, knowing this will get her attention. "Something's happened to him." 

She scoffs at me. _"You think I wouldn't know? They left a note asking for ransom."_

Fuck. "Baz has been _kidnapped?"_

_"That's what it looks like."_ She pauses for a moment, and I can hear the menacing sneer on her voice when she speaks, _"How do I know you don't have anything to do with it?"_

And there it is. I huff, exasperated. "Fiona, I wouldn't hurt Baz. Merlin, I can _feel_ what he's feeling. He's terrified." 

She swears (and also curses me.) _"You better not be lying to my face, Chosen One."_

"I'm not." _Not about this._ I wouldn't. "What are we going to do?" 

_"We?"_ She cackles, quite literally. _"We're not doing shit, Chosen One. You can go back to your master or whatever. I'll take care of my nephew."_

I sputter, feeling anger flaring up on my chest, heat rising to my cheeks. "But I want to help! He's my _Soulmate!"_

I shut my mouth then, looking around and hoping no one heard this. 

_"I don't care. This damned bond never brought him anything good,"_ Fiona says, coldly. _"When have you ever cared about him, Snow? You're just thinking about_ yourself." 

She hangs up, then, and I'm left alone in the dark. 

I don't know what to do. Again. 

I tell myself she's wrong. That I _do_ care about Baz, that this isn't just some kind of self preservation instinct. 

I care about him… too much. 

I try to imagine where he is, and the panic rises again within me. Baz, held captive. Baz, alone. 

I need to find him. 

Some days later, I take a train, but not to Watford.

*******

I get to London just after noon. 

I don't really have a plan, but I do know where to start. 

(This is probably a mistake that could earn me a black eye, but it's worth a shot, at least.) 

I call Fiona as soon as I get out of the train station. 

_"What?"_ She snaps. As if she already knows that it's me. 

"I'm in London," I tell her. There's a pause, before she scoffs. 

_"Well, joke's on you, boyo, I'm in_ Hampshire." 

"Uh." My shoulders slump forward. I forgot Baz has a mansion or something. "... should I go there?" 

_"I've told you before, you fucking numpty. You should've gone to Watford."_

I can feel my magic starting to boil up. "Well, yeah, but I didn't. And I'm not leaving this alone until we find Baz." 

She snorts. _"You're so full of yourself, aren't you? Just like your dear Mage."_

"I'm trying to _help,_ okay? I do care about Baz," I say, though I know she won't listen to me. "And you probably think you don't need my help, but you still don't know where he is, do you? Have you tried to cast a finding spell?" 

_"Listen here, boyo,"_ she hisses, _"you think that isn't the first thing I tried?!_ _Wherever Baz is, he's well guarded with magic._ _Those bloody finding spells you learn in that decadent school of yours won't lead you_ anywhere near him." 

I stop for a moment, holding my breath. "What about Soulmate magic?" 

There's silence. Then, humming. I'm about to open my mouth again when she says: _"I'll be there in two hours."_

*******

Fiona and I spend all afternoon searching the city for Baz. 

It's getting dark, and I'm starting to lose hope. We've covered almost half the city superficially, and there's no sign of him anywhere. 

She was right. Finding spells do nothing for us—the one time I try to cast one, sparks fly out of my wonky wand and nothing happens. 

We're staring at a map of the city, scratching the areas we've already covered. 

"Why are you so sure he's here, Snow?" Fiona asks after a while. "They could've taken him anywhere in this country." 

"I just feel it," I say, stupidly, pressing a hand to my chest. "It's like the Crucible, y'know? I felt… compelled to come here. Like there's a hook on my ribs tying me to London." 

When I look up, she's sneering. "That sounds right daft, you know?" 

"...Well, yeah," I say, frowning. "It's always been like this with us. I used to know where Baz was, all the time—" 

"Because you kept _following_ him." 

"Yeah, whatever. Still. I know he's near." I look around. The only problem is that near can mean anywhere around London. "Where was Baz when they got him?" 

"He was kidnapped at the Club," Fiona says, thoughtfully. "This bond of yours; would you say it's stronger than the average Mirror connection?"

"I, uh…" I don't really think of what Baz and I have as something strong. (It's not like we have anything, full stop.) But in terms of connection, well—I know what she means. "Yeah. I think." 

Wonky magic, wonky soulmate bond. Just like it should be. 

"Does it work like a compass?" She asks. I frown again. 

"I never thought about it this way." 

I try to concentrate, think about Baz. _Where are you, where…_

I need to find him. _(I need him.)_

Something stirs inside my chest, pulling. I concentrate more. 

"Do you have any idea of who—or _what—_ took him?"

She shakes her head. "The note didn't specify these things. _Obviously."_

"Why don't you just pay the ransom, then?" I ask, feeling my patience wearing thin. The Pitches definitely have the money. 

Fiona just scoffs at me. "And submit to them? Never. Pitches don't pay _ransoms."_

Now I'm properly angry. "Why not?! Baz has been missing for three days, and it'll take us Merlin knows how long to find him, something that could be avoided if you'd just—" 

She interrupts me with her wand, pointing it right at me, a hex forming on her lips. I lift my hands. 

_"Don't—_ don't hurt him!" 

Fiona stops, her magic short of attacking me. She takes a deep breath and puts her wand down. "Next time, watch your tongue, Chosen One. And I wasn't even going to curse you… badly." 

I huff, crossing my arms over my chest. 

I really want to tell her this is stupid, but I don't fancy getting cursed. 

She gives me a once over. "How are you feeling?" _How's Baz,_ is what she means. I shrug. 

"No new bruises." 

"Alright. I'm going home for today, then. Do you have anywhere to stay at?" 

"I, um…" I didn't plan things this further. "...No." 

A sigh. "You can sleep on my sofa. But if you try anything _—anything,_ boyo—I swear to Crowley I'm going to turn you into a polecat." 

*******

At night, I can't sleep. 

I keep tossing around on Fiona's sofa, trying not to think about Baz. (Somewhere outside, alone in the dark. Cold. Terrified.) 

The closer I fall to sleep, though, the worse it gets. Until… 

I dream. 

I don't know where I'm supposed to be. I know I'm standing in front of a mirror, though my eyes are closed. I just _know_ this, that weird sort of knowledge we have in dreams. 

I also can't move; it's like I'm trapped inside some kind of box— 

I open my eyes. 

It's a coffin. 

And in the mirror, instead of my reflection, Baz stares back at me. 

_Simon,_ he mouths. I can't hear his voice, but I can see the tears welling in his eyes. He's floating in darkness; there's nothing around us. 

"Where are you, Baz?" I ask. Or rather, I try to, because my voice doesn't carry. 

_Numpties._ It takes me a minute to understand that one. _Rocks._ _Water._

My eyes widen. 

He's so close—

I try to reach forward, Baz's arm lifting to imitate my own. 

When our hands touch, the mirror cracks, and I wake up. 

I'm banging on Fiona's door before I'm even fully awake. 

"What? What is it now?!" She comes out fuming. 

"Numpties," I say, rushed. "Numpties took Baz. He must be—" 

"Under a bridge," she completes, whispering. Then, as she seems to come to her senses: "Hold on a minute there, Snow. _How_ do you know they took him?" 

"I saw him," I say, "in a dream." 

She gives me a look that suggests she's plotting my murder. I take a step back. 

"Really, Snow? Are you testing me?" 

"This is serious," I say, holding on to my conviction with everything I have. "It was the bond. I could _see_ him, Fiona. I was—" I swallow, my voice cracking for a moment. "I was looking at a mirror." 

Baz is my Mirror. 

(It's another weird thing about soulmates, the way they match in all aspects. In our scars. In our fear.) 

"...Baz is in a coffin," I say, for some reason. But I guess it's okay. Even if she doesn't believe me, I'm going to find him. 

Nothing could keep me from looking for Baz. 

*******

Numpties usually build their lairs under bridges. 

I suppose it's just like those old tales. Or maybe they like the humidity, though it's hard to imagine how rock monsters can go unnoticed by the local population for so long. 

Fiona and I start searching under the bridge closer to her apartment, following the river. Finding spells still don't work, but I'm starting to think we don't need them. 

I can almost feel him—feel his heart, like it's thumping against my own chest. _Baz._

My leg still hurts, to the point we have to slow down. (I started running as soon as we stepped outside.) The tips of my fingers are excoriated. 

I have to stop at some point, when the pulling becomes too much. It feels like the fire is about to consume me from the inside out, like I'm about to go off. 

I try to warn Fiona, try to keep her away, before—

*******

Well, this one's new. 

It doesn't feel like going off, but there's definitely something going out. 

I open my eyes and stare down at myself. 

Sometimes, when I feel my magic boiling up, threatening to pour out, it calls for Baz. 

It's not just calling for him now—actually, I suppose _he's_ calling for _me._

My magic is fire, just like his. 

Right now, it's a string of bright flames disappearing into the darkness, leading into the unknown, through buildings and under bridges, over the water, leading to— 

To Baz. 

The line tying me to him, suddenly materialised, made of sparkling fire. 

I follow it into the dark. 

* * *

_I slithered here from Eden_

_Just to sit outside your door_

* * *

**Baz**

Sometimes, darkness is a living thing. 

I know because I've spent a long time in the darkness, down in the Catacombs back at Watford. Hunting and hiding from myself. 

That all seems so distant now. 

There are no living things in this darkness. I wonder if I'm buried—the only sounds I hear are from traffic, coming from above. Muffled. 

I don't know where I am. The wooden box is too narrow, as if made to accommodate a corpse. A coffin. 

I don't know if they've noticed the irony. Numpties aren't really clever; they've got rocks for brains, quite literally. 

(I know they're numpties. I can hear them somewhere in my vicinity, guarding me. The sounds of rocks grinding against each other, their rough voices when they talk. When they bring me blood. What I _don't_ know is how these fucking numpties overpowered me. It was probably the surprise element.) (Fiona will never let me live this down.)

I can barely move. Sometimes, I feel like the dark is closing in on me, pressing into my chest, and then breathing becomes difficult. I've screamed my throat raw by now, and tried to break out. But I'm too weak. 

I don't even feel pain anymore—I know I must be hurt, but I'm too numb to care. It's cold, and I haven't had enough blood in a while. 

I wonder if they've noticed that I'm missing. If someone's coming for me.

(I know one person must know. But it's not like he'd care.) 

Blue eyes. 

Bronze curls. 

I cling to the image of my soulmate like a lifeline, a lighthouse in the dark. 

I wonder if he's felt my pain. If he feels my weakness, now. And my fear.

It's a bit humiliating, knowing I'm despairing in the dark, and Simon is getting glimpses of pretty much everything. Maybe he's having a good laugh right now. 

(That's petty, I know. Simon Snow isn't like that; not even when it comes to me.) 

(Maybe he is. Coming for me, that is.) (I don't want to have hope.)

*******

I don't know how much time has passed. 

I can't remember the last time I saw Simon Snow. Though, if my mind isn't trying to trick me, I swear to Crowley I can see him right now. 

It's a dream, I think. A side effect of spending the last hours _(days?)_ in the most complete dark.

Because Simon is a reminder that the sun is out there, still shining. It shines upon him at all times, sometimes even from _within._ At moments like this, I think he's made of it.

And there he is: like breaking dawn, like hope filling me up, so alive and so beautiful. 

It makes my hopeless heart soar, not in despair, for the first time since the darkness. He's so real. 

I'm standing before a mirror—except, instead of my own reflection, there is Simon. 

My _Mirror._

My soulmate, the boy I'm in love with, the boy who hates me. 

I try to say his name, but nothing comes out. 

_Where are you, Baz?_

I can't hear his voice—pity—but somehow, I understand. 

It's hard to remember, for a moment, where I am—in the real world, in the dark. Because, in this moment, all that matters is Simon. In his golden dusk, I'm almost safe. 

But I make an effort to remember, because of the way he's looking at me. This is important. 

_Numpties,_ my voice dies in my lips. _Rocks. Water._

Then, miraculously, Simon lifts his arm, as if to touch me. I immediately do the same—it feels inevitable, because he's right there, and this might be my last chance to touch him—

(I want to, so much. To touch his face and kiss his freckles, to hold his hand, to bury my fingers in his curls.) 

—as soon as we touch, the mirror shatters. 

And then he's gone. 

*******

The next time I wake up, there's light. 

It's so surprising, so _impossible,_ that for a moment I think I'm still dreaming. But no, there's _light._

It comes from my chest—actually, it's not just any light.

It's a flame. 

I have half a mind to worry about going up in flames—fire and vampires don't make for delightful pairs—but nothing happens. I can only move my arm enough to touch the point on my chest the fire licks. 

It's a phantom fire, though I can feel its heat. 

It's _my own_ fire. 

My magic, intertwined with… 

Simon's. 

I would recognise it anyway, any time. 

_Simon is coming for me._

I breathe in deeply, trying to hold back tears. I can _feel_ him approaching—his magic so close, calling for me, _reaching_ for me. 

I hear sounds outside, not long after —rocks gritting and spells flying, the clang of metal against stone, and then… 

Something thumps against the coffin's lid. 

"Baz?" 

*******

Fiona is never going to shut up about this. 

"Fucking numpties, Baz! For Crowley's sake," she says, maybe for the fifteenth time. _"How_ did you let this happen?!" 

"I don't know," I spit out through gritted teeth. This is all too humiliating. She wouldn't even let me take the front seat. 

(Even worse was Snow offering to ride in the back with me. Fucking pathetic.) 

He's eyeing me now, warily, as if he expects me to lash out. Or to break down sobbing. (Later, maybe. But _not_ in front of them.) 

He's been like this since we got out of the numpties' lair. Looking at me like I'm about to break. Like I'll crash with a blow of the wind. 

It's driving me crazy, and I can't wait for him to get back to normal. To start jabbing his finger into my chest and inquiring what the fuck I'm up to. Perhaps he'll accuse me of staging this whole thing just to lure him into some kind of trap. Crowley knows what goes through his head. 

He hugged me. Actually pressed me strongly against his chest. It wasn't a dream, or a pitiful conjuring of my imagination. I'm torn between forgetting and clinging to that moment forever: Simon Snow pulling me out of that coffin and hugging me like his life depended on it, while our magics swirled together.

(Fine, there's no use trying to deny it. I'll never forget that moment.) 

For now, though, our main concern is to get food. 

It's almost four in the morning, so that's a difficult task. We end up at a 24/7 McDonald's. 

It's weird, sitting here under the overtly bright lights after days in the dark, with Snow and my aunt both staring at me intently while I tear through a Big Mac. (Snow, especially. I think he's trying to peek at my fangs.) 

I wish they'd stop. My fangs feel uncomfortably big inside my mouth now, and I'd probably feel mortified if I wasn't so hungry. 

(At least they spelled my clothes clean. That's another thing I'd never live down.) 

Though the blood stains are gone, and my injuries healed, I still feel terrible. The excessive light hurts my eyes, and I can feel a headache coming. The rush of adrenaline is dwindling, and exhaustion is catching up with me. 

"Slow down, boyo," Fiona says after a while. "We don't want you getting sick all over your sweet Chosen One." 

I stop chewing just long enough to tell her to fuck off. But then I do slow down. 

Simon almost hasn't touched his food, which is weird and more than a bit suspicious. I stare at him, lifting an eyebrow. 

"What?" he asks, frowning under my scrutiny. 

"You're too quiet, and you aren't even stuffing your face," I say, pointedly. Snow shrugs. 

"I'm just thinking," he mumbles. "Are you okay?" 

I'm so taken aback that I almost choke. "Me? I mean, yes. I'll be alright." _Why do you even care?_ I think to ask, but the words get smothered by another bite. I don't really want to hear his answer. 

(To hear that he _doesn't.)_

Anyway. 

The silence stretches between us for a moment, before Fiona sighs and slams something onto the table, startling us. 

"Next time, don't go out without this shit," she says as I stare at my wand, wordless. 

"Fine," I say, cradling it. I didn't think I'd see it again. 

I breathe slowly, putting my hamburger down and wondering if I could cast something. Before the words can form, though, someone grabs my wrist. 

"Don't," Snow says. "You're too tired." 

I sneer at his tone, gripping my wand tighter. "You think you know, don't you, Snow? Already trying to tell me how I feel?" 

He opens his mouth, then shuts it and sits back, letting go of my wrist. I miss the contact immediately. "Whatever, Baz. I just know _I'm_ tired. But you do you." 

He gets up, then, marching up to the counter. I almost call him back. (Because I'm weak.) 

I notice, then, that he's limping. 

"What happened to your leg?" I ask, when he gets back with another water bottle. He just shrugs. 

"The same that happened to yours," Snow replies, like it's nothing. "You're limping, too. 

I look at Fiona. "Didn't you heal him?" 

She lifts both eyebrows at me. "Do I look like the Chosen One's personal caretaker, Basil?" 

I huff. "Just—forget it." Then, after checking to make sure the cashier is distracted, I point my wand at his injured leg. **"Get well soon!"**

Snow frowns, but visibly relaxes as my magic washes over him. He was right, though—I feel it like an added weight upon my shoulders. But it's worth it, the way he sighs and looks at me. 

"Thanks." 

I nod. "You're welcome." 

My own leg hasn't healed properly, I don't think, but it's probable that Snow's magic took care of the worst of the injury, at first. But I leave it alone. 

When we're back in the car, the sky is just beginning to clear. 

"Where are we going?" Simon asks, looking back at me. 

"Watford," I say, at the same time Fiona shouts "Hampshire!" 

I sit up immediately. "But I can't miss more classes!" 

"Classes haven't started yet," Snow says. "Also, I know you're ahead in almost all of our classes. If you miss the first week, it'll barely affect you." 

"Now you've got a point, boyo," Fiona says. "All that obsessive studying finally came in handy." 

I scoff, betrayed. "What the fuck, Fi." 

"You need _rest,"_ she deadpans. "You haven't eaten anything in a week—" 

"I have now!" 

"—and you're not completely healed. You're weak, Baz. We can't send you back in these conditions." 

"You sound like Daphne," I mutter under my breath. 

"Hell if I do! You can't even begin to _imagine_ what she's going to say—" 

"What about Snow?" 

The tires screech as she stops suddenly under the red light. Simon looks between us. 

"What about me…?" 

"I'm dropping Baz home, then I can take you to Watford," she says, sighing. 

"B-but—I thought, well—" Snow sputters, blotchy red spots taking over his face. Adorable. 

"You thought what?" I interrupt, propping myself between the two front seats. 

He stops, then, working his jaw and turning to look me in the eye. Shit. I didn't realise we were this close. "I just thought I'd stay with you." 

It takes me a moment to process the words. I can hear Fiona cackling, but I don't have it in me to care. 

"Why?" 

A shrug. "I don't know. I just thought I should. To…" Snow bites his lower lip. His next words are barely a whisper. "...To make sure you're safe." 

I sit back, then, feeling blank. This is most definitely a dream. There's no way Snow would ever be concerned about my _safety_ in real life. (Fucking hell, there's no way he'd even come to save me.) 

Usually, though, Fiona isn't in my dreams laughing her ass off at me.

"That was a good one, boyo," she says, literally wiping a tear from her eye. I kick the back of her seat. "Ow, Basil! Keep kicking my car and I'll drop you right back to the numpties!" 

"Sorry, that was an accident," I sneer, rolling my eyes. Snow looks back at me and grins. I look away. 

We spend the rest of the way to Hampshire in silence. 

*******

"I can't believe you literally live in a gothic haunted manor," Simon says, standing on my porch. "I mean, I _can_ believe. It's weirdly fitting." 

"First of all, it's Victorian, not gothic," I snap, getting out of the car. All it does is earn me a tired smile. 

Fiona sighs. "Tell your father I'll be back in some hours, Baz. Come on, Chosen One." 

I grab Snow's arm when he walks around me. "You should stay, actually." 

"What?" Simon and Fiona shout in unison, both gaping at me. 

"Look, I know you're both tired after all… this." (Simon worried about me. He lost sleep over me.) "So, he should stay for some hours. Just while you rest, Fi." 

She thinks about it, her fingers thrumming on the wheel. "What are you going to tell Malcolm?" 

"Exactly what happened," I say, looking at Simon. "That Snow helped you find me, and you both spent the night searching. Besides," I continue, "it would be just polite to let him stay." 

We look at her expectantly. Finally, Fiona sighs and gets out of her car. 

"Fine," she says, marching up to the door. "But _you_ will explain this mess." 

**Simon**

Luckily, we don't need to explain much, at least for now. 

Baz's parents are too relieved to see him to care about me. His stepmother just spares me a glance, smiles kindly and leads me to one of their (haunted) guest rooms. She must think we're friends or something. 

I sleep—peacefully, for the first time all week—through lunch, and when I wake up, sometime in the afternoon, there's a plate of food on the side table. 

I eat, but I try to avoid going out as much as possible. When I do, though, the only person I find in the house is a maid called Vera. She's a Normal, and very kind, so it helps ease my nerves a bit. 

I have no idea where the Grimms are. Or Fiona. Maybe they're all reunited in a dungeon somewhere here, updating the other Families on the latest news. On my presence here. 

Nothing happens all day, though. I don't see Baz, either, and I'm not sure if that's a good sign or not. (Maybe he's just passed out. I'm not getting anything from his end.) 

I remember, then. The bond. 

(... Maybe we should talk about that.)

But I don't get a chance to. Vera serves me dinner (the Grimms still haven't showed up), and takes a plate to Baz's room before going home. 

There's nothing to do around, so I go back to the guest room. 

*******

I wake up to sounds of howling and banging, and things rattling around the room. Huh. 

Turns out, this place is _really_ haunted.

I'm just trying to figure out how to get rid of the ghosts in my room when someone knocks on the door. 

I turn to see Baz standing in the doorway, dressed in fresh silk pyjamas. The scent of bergamot wafts into the room. 

"Hey," he says with pretended nonchalance, "how are you?" 

"Uh, I'm fine, I think," I say, scratching the back of my neck out of habit. I got a buzz cut some days ago. "How are you?" 

Baz seems surprised by the question. As if he isn't the one who got kidnapped and held captive for a whole week. "I've been better. But after fifteen hours of sleep and three meals, I feel a bit more… _alive."_ He lifts an eyebrow, then, as if daring me to disagree. 

I smile. "Okay. Good." I look around, eyeing the rattling furniture. "Hey, can I sleep in your room? Just for tonight, I mean." 

Baz frowns, then sneers. "Don't you think we're moving too fast, Snow?"

I sputter, my cheeks heating up. "I-I don't mean it like that. It's just… this room is literally haunted. There was something under the bed trying to grab my feet just now." 

He chuckles. It amazes me. "Please, Snow, don't tell me you're scared of wraiths. They're inoffensive." 

I shrug. "Well, it's not like I can use my sword to defend myself. Besides, I…" I bite my lip. "I kinda wanted to talk to you." 

At that, Baz straightens his back, lifting an eyebrow. "About…?" 

"You know. Us—our… _you know."_

He just keeps frowning at me. I sigh. 

"C'mon, Baz." I hop onto the bed, patting the mattress by my side. He seems surprised, but doesn't throw any witty remarks my way. 

Instead, Baz slides silently into the room, closing the door behind him. He doesn't sit down by my side—he sits on the farther end of the mattress, drawing his legs up against his chest. Then, he just looks at me.

The silence stretches, familiar. It's like we're back in our room at Watford, watching each other and not saying anything, this mutual understanding passing between us without words. 

This time, though, we do need words.

"I've been wanting to talk about this for a while," I say, half mumbling, but I know he understands me just fine. "It's just…" 

I've had this conversation in my head at least a hundred times. In all these years knowing I'm Baz's Soulmate, the words kept trying to go out. But I'm not good with them. I can only hope I won't fuck up too badly. 

"I don't want to fight, Baz," I finally blurt, avoiding looking at him. "And before you say we're already on a truce, I don't mean that. I mean, I don't want to… you know." 

Yeah, fuck this. I look over at him. Baz has his eyebrows scrunched up, obviously confused. 

He sighs. "Look, Snow, it would be much easier to talk to you if you could actually finish your bloody sentences," he says, but there's no bite to it. He just sounds tired. 

I'm tired, too. 

"I don't want to kill you," I deadpan. "And it would be nice if you didn't kill me, either." 

This time, when I look up, the confusion is gone, replaced by shock. He opens his mouth to answer, but I go on. 

"Just listen, okay? I need to get this out. Baz, I—" I take a deep breath, then exhale slowly. "I worried about you. A lot. I was so fucking… scared for you." I stare at him, waiting. 

Baz stays silent for a while. I let myself fall back on the mattress, waiting for his response. I'm starting to think it won't come when he finally speaks. 

"It's just your self-preservation instinct," he says, his voice so low, I'm not sure he's talking to me or to himself. But then, he looks at me. "You don't care about me, Simon. You just felt what I was feeling, and it scared you. Because whatever happened to me would hurt you, as well." 

**Baz**

Simon Snow will be the death of me. 

He used to pick fights with me every chance he got. Even after he figured out we're Soulmates, in the beginning, before the truce; said it made the fights all the more fair. 

Before, he was chipping away at me slowly, small cuts each time. Then, when he'd get seriously hurt—a stab, or broken bones, or internal bleeding—I could feel it all, though to a lesser degree. 

And the physical pain couldn't compare to knowing he was hurt. To feeling just how much it hurt on my own skin. 

_You don't care. It's just your self-preservation instinct talking._ I don't know how many times I repeated those words to myself before I understood they weren't true. I wanted to protect myself, yes, but not from _Simon_ , just… from my own feelings. 

And now, I'm telling him this. The difference is that it's true, for him. Probably. Realistically. This is just another way Snow hurts me without realising. 

(I don't bear his scars like he does mine—I do feel the pain, but the injuries heal quickly, and then there's no trace left of them.) 

I expect him to come to his senses. To process what I'm saying. I can practically see the gears turning inside his head. 

"I… Baz, that isn't true," he says, finally, shaking his head. I scoff. 

"Isn't it, Snow? _What_ is the truth, then?" 

"The truth is that I _do_ care about you!" He says, raising his voice. His chin is jutted out. Eyebrows knitted together, resolve in his eyes. This is his fighting stance. 

I lift an eyebrow at him, taunting. "Why would you, Snow? I'm your enemy, first of all, and certainly not worth the trouble." 

"You're also my soulmate," Snow states, matter-of-factly. "And my roommate. You can be an arsehole sometimes, but that doesn't change the facts." 

"The _fact_ is that we're stuck in a bond none of us asked for," I say, sneering. "Or do you actually like this thing, Snow?" 

"Well, I—" he huffs, ruffling his hair. Then, he turns to me again. "Yeah. I do, actually." The mattress dips when he scoots closer. "The bond helped me find you, didn't it? I liked that." 

I don't argue with that. I'm not so ungrateful. "What about the injuries? And leaking feelings all over each other? And that dream?" 

I don't even specify which dream, but Snow is right about one thing. The bond keeps us in syntony. He knows exactly what I'm talking about. 

"I've gotten used to those things," he says. "I… tried to be mindful of myself during missions. So that you wouldn't get hurt because of something you didn't sign up for. The dream, though…" He seems to forget we're arguing for a moment. "That's not normal, is it?" 

I shake my head, partially to answer him, but also trying to focus again. _(I tried to be mindful.)_ "That's… unprecedented." I smirk, then. "Take this dream, for example. What do you think it means, Simon? You and I, mirroring each other. The mirror, then, _shattering."_ I don't know why I just can't let this go. 

He frowns. "You… do you think we could _break_ the bond?" 

"A thrilling idea, isn't it?" I drawl, though my voice lacks emotion. 

_"No._ That's literally impossible, Baz!"

 _"You're_ impossible, Snow." 

"Whatever. The thing is, I didn't interpret it that way." 

I scoff again. "I know I'll regret this, but… care to enlighten me, Snow?" 

He looks up at the ceiling, thinking. "I thought… we were on opposite sides of the glass, obviously," he starts, ignoring my comment _("congratulations, that's how mirrors work.")_ "And then, when it shattered, it was like… this wall coming down. Like we could finally stand side by side." 

Simon looks at me, blue eyes boring into mine. He props himself on his elbows, turning to me. 

I don't know what to say. I have no idea how to proceed. 

And then, he comes even closer. 

**Simon**

Baz just shakes his head for a minute, the scowl slipping from his face. Then, he sighs, rubbing his eyes, and I know this is our cue to drop the topic.

"What finding spell did you cast?" He asks, quietly. Almost as if he doesn't want to know. 

"I didn't. I mean, that wasn't a spell, exactly. Um…" I trail off, trying to think of an explanation. "I was just thinking about you… you, well, suffering. And I couldn't stand it. I thought I was going to go off, but then _that_ happened." 

I examine Baz's face carefully. "You're telling me the string of fire wasn't a spell?" 

"...Yeah." 

For a moment, he just looks forward, face blank. 

I hate this expression, most of all. More than his taunting eyebrows and sneering mouth, even more than his cruel smirks and his cutting tongue. This is the face he makes when he's trying to shut me out.

"Baz?" I poke at his arm, lightly. "What does it mean?" 

"I don't know," he mumbles, looking away from me. Thinking. "Who knows when it comes to you, Snow? This is… _unheard_ of." 

I shrug. "I could figure that out by myself. I want to know what _you_ think it means." 

"Nothing." 

I frown. "What?" 

"I think it doesn't mean anything," Baz says, louder. "It's just like when you try to use any normal spell. It's completely unpredictable, as is anything your magic does." 

"Hey!" I shove at his shoulder, lightly. He grins, the fucking prat. "You can't miss a chance to insult me, can you?" 

"Actually, no. One of these days, you might get a spell right, and then the fun will be over." 

I laugh. Actually laugh, because he can't even wait two days before going back to antagonising me. It's… familiar. 

The laughter dies down, and I realise something else. "I missed you." 

His head snaps in my direction. "Pardon?" 

"I missed you, Baz," I say again, looking at him this time. I can only think of one time I've seen his eyes this wide. 

"I was barely gone for a week," he says. 

"Yeah, but I haven't seen you all summer. And I missed you." 

He huffs a laugh. "You can't be serious, Simon." 

"I am. I swear to Merlin." 

He looks at me; really looks at me, our eyes locking. I wish I could know what he's thinking. 

**Baz**

I don't know what I'm thinking. 

I've got Simon Snow in a bed (not my bed, exactly, but close enough), telling me he cares about me, that he worries about me and that he _missed me._

Actually, there's a good chance I'm not thinking at all. 

(Because Simon is right here. By my side. In the bed.) 

But we're enemies. But nothing good can come out of this. And Simon probably doesn't even _want_ anything to do with me. 

...He doesn't want to fight me. 

"What do you _want,_ Snow?" I ask, suddenly sitting upright, because lying down this close to him is making it difficult to concentrate. "Why are you even here? Why keep insisting on something you absolutely _don't_ mean?" _Why keep torturing me like this?_

"I—" 

**Simon**

_What do I want?_

I want him to shut up. To stop pushing venom into his words to mask their real meaning, when he's saying things he doesn't really want to say. 

I want him to stop pushing me away. (Which probably means I also want to get closer.) 

I want to be on the same side as him, for once. No walls of glass or family wars or magic-sucking entities between us. Nothing he can summon. Nothing I can't defeat. 

We're… what? Soulmates. Roommates. Reluctant enemies. At least I think so. 

(Because I don't think Baz wants to hurt me. Even when he uses cruel words against me, it pains him a little bit, just like it pained me to accuse him—of being a vampire, and of plotting.) 

I tell myself that's enough. It's got to be. Maybe we'll never be allies. Or truly friends. Or… anything, really. It's okay if this is all we'll ever get. At least we've stopped hurting each other, and ourselves. 

I'm just realising, though, that this is not enough. I _want_ something more. I'm just having a hard time understanding what that something is.

(I want Baz to be safe.) 

(And I want to be close to him.) 

_Closer…_

"What are you doing, Snow?" He asks, softer this time, but the inquiring tone is still there. His eyes search my face, stopping briefly on my mouth.

I want him to stop trying to tell me how I feel. Because he's wrong. Or maybe he's just as clueless as I am. 

I know him better than I know myself, and yet, I think I've been misunderstanding him—and _myself—_ for a long time. 

There's nothing more disconcerting than figuring out something deeply hidden about someone you know too well. (About _yourself.)_

But I think I've got it, now. I know what this means. I know what I want, and it's right. 

I want Baz Pitch under my thumb like this. Not lost, alone in the cold, not plotting or avoiding me, and certainly not attacking me with his scathing words. 

Then, just to make sure he won't this time, I close the gap between us and seal our lips together. 

**Baz**

Sometimes, the world makes no sense. 

Simon Snow kissing me makes no sense. It's something that should never happen—something I've wanted so much, and for so long, it certainly belongs in hopeless fantasies and forgotten dreams. 

Now, though, here he is. Miracle boy, making impossible things reality. Moving his lips against mine in a way that makes my heart beat like it's alive. When he bobs his chin, I sigh and melt against him. 

I don't know if this is a good kiss. I don't even know what to do, exactly—it's my first, after all. (I've never wanted to kiss anyone but him, anyway.) 

Snow's mouth pushes against mine, incredibly hot, and I push back. He tilts his head, kissing my bottom lip and nipping at it lightly. My breath hitches when I realise what this means. What he's asking for. 

Have I imagined what his tongue would feel like sliding against mine? Yes. Was it accurate? Not exactly, but somehow, this is even better. 

It's sloppier than I thought it would be (though that's probably my fault). It's also warmer, and hungrier. (At least I got this part right.) I'm kissing Snow like he's the air I need to breathe. 

_I'm kissing Simon Snow._ Aleister Crowley, if I could live in a moment for the rest of my life… 

As soon as it started, though, the kissing is over. 

I almost whine when Simon pulls back. _Almost._ Because the sight of his rosy cheeks and swollen lips makes up for the loss. 

He grins, then, lopsidedly. "Wow." 

"Wow?" I ask, breathing heavily. "What the fuck was that, Snow?!" 

"A kiss," he says. "You know what's that, right? That thing people do when they put their tongues—" 

"I meant why you kissed me, you—you…!" Fuck me. I can't even think of a proper insult. Simon's mouth has killed every last coherent thought I had in my head. He just laughs. 

"Cat got your tongue, Baz?" 

I literally groan. "You _wish,_ Snow. Get on with it." 

Then, I take him by the collar of his shirt, yanking him forward so that our mouths collide again. 

He grins against my lips. 

**Simon**

I can't believe how much time we wasted when we could have been doing _this._

I mean, I've definitely thought about it before. I know because I have a whole list of things in my head I want to do to Baz. For example, right at the top, there's this one: _run my fingers through his hair to see if it's as soft as it seems._

I do, and it is. Even better than that, though, is the sigh Baz lets out into my mouth when I pull lightly at his dark locks. Then, I rest my hand on the nape of his neck, bringing him closer to me. 

The kissing starts out shy, clumsy; for the first time, it occurs to me that Baz has never kissed anyone before. Still, he gets the hang of it quickly. 

_(Of course._ Because he's Baz, and there's nothing Baz isn't perfect at if he puts his heart into it.) 

_His heart._ I slide my hand down his neck, to his chest, resting over his heart. It's too faint for me to feel it, but I know it's there. Alive. Beating. 

Baz's hand presses over mine, our fingers intertwining. Every time I try to break the kiss, he grunts and pushes more fiercely, biting down on my lip. 

(He never bites too hard. I wouldn't care if he drew a bit of blood, but I think he probably would.) 

I'm not sure I'm breathing anymore, but I couldn't care less. I just feel light-headed, and like there's something bubbling up inside of me. Some kind of happiness. I can't hold it in. 

I kiss Baz one last time, then I kiss his cheek, nuzzling down his jaw and the side of his neck. I hide my face there, letting out a shaky laugh, kissing the spot where his neck meets his jaw. 

"What?" He asks, panting. I can feel his breath tickling my ear. He nuzzles at my curls, one of his hands traveling across my back. 

"You," I say, breathlessly. "I never thought you wanted that." 

He huffs. "Well, _you_ kissed _me."_

"Yeah," I pull back just enough to grin at him. "And you kissed me _back."_

Baz shakes his head, but not denying. He's smiling _—Merlin,_ he looks so lovely when he smiles. It lights up his whole face. 

I kiss him again, just a peck on the lips, to test something. He doesn't complain. I can't really see his face in the dark, but I can see his eyes shining. 

"How long have you wanted this?" I ask, quietly. Baz looks away. 

"Embarrassingly long," he says, fidgeting with the hem of his pyjamas. I sigh, resting my cheek on his shoulder. 

"I'm so fucking daft."

"That you are," he laughs. I shove his shoulder playfully. 

"Fuck off, Baz," I say, though I'm still smiling. (I can't stop smiling.) "I don't know how I didn't figure it out sooner." 

He shrugs. "I wasn't exactly waxing romantic to you in your presence, was I?" 

**Baz**

Simon shrugs. "Yeah, I guess, but still… I should have known." 

I frown. "How so?" 

"It's just…" he bites his lip. (I was doing that, a minute ago. To him, I mean.) "Well, those are always strong feelings, aren't they? Even _I_ shouldn't be able to ignore them for so long. I guess, maybe… maybe I was mistaking your feelings for… something else." 

I nod, my mouth contorting in a forced smile. "Love and hate are very similar, you know. In some ways." 

Snow snorts, surprised. "Are they, now?" 

"Absolutely." 

"Nah, I don't think that's it," he says, shrugging. "I could feel it… but I didn't think it was hate. I mean, I used to think you hated me, before. Back in fifth year, pre-truce. But I haven't for a while." 

I don't know what to say. I just keep looking at him, trying to wrap my head around the reality of Simon Snow not hating me. Worrying about me. Wanting me the way I want him, or at least a fraction of that. 

He looks at me and smiles, almost shyly. 

"I don't know," he says, despite the fact that I didn't ask. "I mean, I don't know how long it's been. For me. I didn't realise it 'til now." 

"Realised what?" 

"That…" his smile grows larger, brighter. "Well, I like you, Baz. A lot." 

**Simon**

His face goes blank again, but it's different, this time. I can feel the turmoil of emotions going through him as he tries to process all this. I think I broke him. 

"...Baz?" I ask, uncertain. He snaps out of whatever that was, his eyes still dark and a bit unfocused when he turns back to me. 

"What?" He asks, quietly. 

I take a deep breath. I've thought about this before—I can usually tell which feelings are mine and which are his; these feelings, though… 

I knew when he was angry, and it wasn't like this. I also knew I've already felt this before, and it's part of the reason I didn't figure things out sooner. 

Because part of these feelings are mine. If Baz likes me, if he's _in love_ with me, and I never noticed it…

"I feel the same, you know," I tell him. "That's how I didn't realise how you felt. Because I thought those were just my own feelings, when yours were tangled with them. I feel the same as you do, Baz."

Something flashes on his eyes as he processes it. Then, his look changes. 

I know this look. I also know the hot feeling flaring up in my belly, lighting my insides. 

I used to think this look meant something else entirely. That these feelings washing over me were anger, hot and boiling— 

I know, now, what it really means.

It's the look Baz gives me when he's about to attack. And he _does._

His lips are on mine again in an instant, insistent and demanding, and I give it all back to him. 

Suddenly, we break apart, panting and confused, when the world starts shaking. 

"The fuck," I mumble, my brain too fogged to understand what's going on. 

_The fucking bed is rattling—_

Baz leans over the side of the bed, hissing at something under it, and the rattling stops. 

We stare at each other awkwardly. I notice his fangs have popped. 

"We should, uh…" he clears his throat, covering his mouth to hide them. "We should probably move to my room." 

I grin, taking his hand. "Sounds good." _Away of the bloody wraiths._

**Baz**

We cross the hallways in silence, close enough that I could reach out and take his hand if I want to. (I can do that, now.) _(I do.)_

When we get to my room, Simon eyes my bed warily. "Are those… _gargoyles?"_

"Yes," I say, laughing a bit. I look at him while he looks around, examining the room. "Is it fitting for a vampire, in your opinion?" 

"It's more illuminated than I imagined," Snow says, unaware of the way my heart stutters at that. I don't point it out. "Also, there's a fireplace."

I shrug. I get some blankets for him from my wardrobe, and toss one of my pillows to him. (I try to ignore the way he's looking at my messy bed. Tell myself he's just staring at the bloody gargoyles.) 

He starts arranging the blankets on my sofa, avoiding looking at me. I catch him on the corner of my eye, flashing him a grin, and his ears turn red. 

I can feel the eagerness bouncing around his chest, making his heart rate pick up. It's almost addicting, especially knowing _I_ did that to him. I made him all flustered like this. 

But I know we need to proceed cautiously. This is still too new, too… fragile. I don't even know what it means, for sure. 

_I like you. A lot._

He makes it seem so simple. So easy. Like a few kisses could erase years of animosity (and secret yearning) between us. 

Snow sits down on the sofa, looking at me hesitantly. "Baz… what is it?" 

I shrug. "What is what?" 

"This face." 

"Well, I don't know about you, Snow, but this is the only face I have." 

Simon rolls his eyes, though there's a glint of affection in them. (I know I'm not imagining it. I can feel it—his amusement, his happiness.) 

"This face you're making. There's something bothering you," he says, crossing his arms. 

I open my mouth to say it's none of his business, but then he gets up, his arms lacing my hips and pulling me to him. "Stop it," he says, kissing my chin, then the corner of my mouth. "I know you're overthinking." 

I snort, and he bumps his nose against mine. "How can you do this? Just… _not_ think?" 

Simon shrugs. "I'm really good at that. Not thinking, you know. You should try it sometime." He kisses me again, slower this time. Carefully. Sweetly. It's almost too much for my undead heart to bear. 

When we pull apart, I rest my forehead against his. "You're a mess, you know that, right?" 

He chuckles. "Have you seen yourself in a mirror recently? We match." 

I can't help the smile that spreads over my face. "Bold words, Snow. One kiss, and you already think the world is upside down." 

He tilts his head. _"One_ kiss?" 

Then, he grabs me by the back of my neck. 

**Simon**

The sofa is too narrow for both of us, and I guess we're both a bit wary of the bed (too much, too fast…) so, in the end, we settle down on the floor, in front of the crackling fireplace. At least, Baz's fancy rug is minimally comfortable.

I don't know how long we stay there, rolling around on the floor and kissing. I just know that it's still not enough. I can't get my fill of Baz's mouth, of his little gasps, of his skin under my hands and his hair between my fingers. 

We only ever part for long enough to take a few breaths before we're on each other again. And whatever we're feeling, it's becoming hard to tell what's his and what's mine. Everything's mingling inside my chest: happiness and awe and want and need. 

We cool down, eventually, just as the sky starts clearing outside and the last embers burn on the fireplace. I know Baz is tired, and still weak. I can feel it in my own bones. 

We lie next to each other, quietly, still touching. Though the urgency is gone, the want is still here; though now it's no longer wildfire. It burns like the embers, candid. 

I look at Baz, and I swear to Merlin, he's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I mean, I knew that already; now, though… it's different. 

Everything's different. 

Now that the smoke is dissipating and the mirrors are shattering, I can finally see him clearly.

And he's lovely. 

(I'm in love with him.) 

He looks so open in this warm light. His eyes roam over my face, carefully, his fingers buried in my hair. He's playing with my curls, pulling at them until they straighten, then letting them bounce back like springs. 

"You're lovely," he says, his hand cupping my cheek, as if stealing the words from my mind. "So lovely, Simon." 

I smile. My chest could fit the whole fucking sun. "So are you, darling." 

Baz chuckles, then, his eyes crinkling up. "Are we on that stage already?" 

"Oh, well," I shrug, "we have a lot to catch up on. Gotta move at light's speed." 

He shakes his head, smiling. There's a sad edge to it, I notice. "I wish this could last longer." 

I lift myself on an elbow. "What do you mean?" 

"I mean…" Baz looks at the ceiling. He sighs. "I like this. Too much, maybe. It's everything I thought I could never have." 

I blink at him, my heart clenching. "But we can, now. We _have_ it." 

"You don't get it. We can't—what could come of this, Simon? They'd never let us be." 

Oh. I feel my joy dwindling. Of course. The Mage, the families… 

I shake my head, sitting up. "I don't care, Baz. They can't—I mean, _I won't_ let them get between us. Nor anyone. Not ever again." 

He looks at me, a flicker of hope lighting up his face. I take his hand and intertwine our fingers, then I bring it up to my mouth, kissing the back of his hand. 

"We can have this," I say, lying down again. "We have time. And if they try to do something about it, well…" I let my magic rise, though this time it's not an explosion. It comes more like a caress, and I feel Baz's magic wrapping around it. "Then we'll just have to show them." 

He smiles. "Do you think we should… tell them?" 

"Maybe. Not now, though. Now I just want to enjoy this," I say, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Baz shifts to tuck his face in the crook of my neck, kissing a spot there, just above my clavicle. 

He stops, then, looking at it. His fingers trace the two dots—my bite marks—lightly. 

He looks at my face. "I didn't know." 

I shrug. "I didn't either. I used to think they were moles." 

Baz nods. "Me too. I…" he swallows, his eyes full of something I can't place. "I've wanted to kiss them since I was twelve." 

I smile. Then, I brush his hair back, examining the same spot on his neck. "Yours…?" 

"Healed," he says. "A long time ago. Can you remember if it hurt?" 

I shake my head. He kisses it again. 

Then, he gets up, offering me his hand. "Come on now, Snow. Let's go to bed." 

"You called me Simon before," I say, teasing. 

"Did I?" Baz smirks. "Come then, _Simon."_

I smile, taking his hand and letting him pull me up. 

It's good, holding him like this. Sleeping with Baz in my arms, so close that our hearts beat in unison. 

It's like everything's falling into place. All the pieces of the puzzle finally fit together. 

_(We_ fit together.) 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!! Both quotations are from the song "From Eden", by Hozier, which you should listen to. (I'm obsessed with it now.)  
> Special thanks to [seducing_a_vampire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seducing_a_vampire/works) for being a lovely beta!! 💞  
> You can always find me on Tumblr at [nightimedreamersworld!](https://nightimedreamersworld.tumblr.com/)


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